


Citytalia

by Author_From_Spectrum



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: F/M, Major Original Character(s), Minor Canonical Character(s), One Shot Collection
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-24
Updated: 2020-02-24
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:01:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22879141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Author_From_Spectrum/pseuds/Author_From_Spectrum
Summary: This is collection of short stories about children of countries — cities! One by one you, dear reader, will dicover how incarnations are living, loving and fighting for happiness during different epoches!Important! All main characters are cities, not states/provinces etc.
Kudos: 2





	Citytalia

**Author's Note:**

> Dear reader,  
> Author of this stories is from Russia and therefore not a native English-speaker. I did my best to find any possible mistakes, but there still might be some. Help me to improve my knowledge of English and please send me about it, if you wish.  
> Thank you for reading!

_New-York_ _has always carefully controlled his emotions._

While listening to depressive songs, Newt could try on the appearance of a desperate soul, and, in response to a particularly well-aimed mockery of Moscow, could fall into feigned fury and throw a couple of phrases in a fit of false anger that would cause an explosion in the soul of the Third Rome. They both knew that it was all a masquerade, but the capital of Russia couldn't turn off feelings. And New-York could. Just was able, therefore did. 

A precisely verified smile, counted words and an assuredly confident voice, and mistrust in the eyes of London was melting, Paris was smiling again, and Berlin was no longer nervously fumbling through the pockets of his bag for weapons that are not there — a habit worked out by a hundred betrayals that does not make sense in the modern world. 

Many, all of the old cities had similar problems, paranoia to one degree or another, and a lot of sad experience, which did not allow them to sleep at night. They held the masks for too long, and they wore out, crumbled into pieces and turned into a miserable and pretended attempt to shut themselves off from the world. Ancient cities were too tired of fake emotions to show them. 

New-York wasn't an old city, and therefore felt that he was worthy to lead the world after himself — it was not nightmares, but parties that prevented him from sleeping at night. 

And he didn’t use falsity — when you got into the role so much that it became a part of you, that it is you, can you call it a mask? After all, the mask can be broken, thrown out, _detached._

No one could change Newt — neither his father, nor his brothers and sisters, nor even incarnations from other countries. 

New-York often came to meetings of capitals along with Washington — she was too timid for the capital of a superpower, although she has made great progress in this regard compared to previous years. Not without the help of an elder brother, of course. 

When this happened for the first time, the incarnations of the capitals looked, to put it mildly, shocked. 

"Yo, dudes." the American had grinned, obviously enjoying the fact that all eyes were riveted to him. "Why are you all so sour?" 

"New-York," Berlin had began, staring intently into american's eyes. Few, very few dared to take such a feint — the actual capital of USA could not stand it when anybody looked into his eyes, and whoever does this can regret it very much. The only weakness New-York allowed himself. But Berlin was not afraid. He was appointed chief for another reason, but for Newt, this will forever be the most important. 

"What are you doing here?" 

Even through quiff Newt had felt Bernhard’s blue eyes, and he unbearably wanted to turn away... only for a moment. Within a second, he calmly answered: 

"This is a meeting of capitals? America has two of them." 

Moscow had grinned and muttered something vague about Petersburg. Newt only captured "too little space." 

"Do not worry, Moscow, that's enough for me. I am unpretentious." 

There hadn't been a drop of feelings in the voice of New York. He knew how to control emotions. Moscow had been slightly crooked — he hated it when other languages distort his name. The only weakness he allowed himself. 

Nobody had asked any more questions. They knew that Newt could neither be persuaded nor changed. 

Washington had been hiding eyes behind glasses since New-York arrival. 

"Hi." Newt had said to her calmly. Georgina had just nodded — she had been worried. Brother had never came to meetings before. Something happened? Was she no longer the capital? Had America decided she is not good enough?

But it was none of these, and probably only Newt knew, what had been going on. 

Over time, everyone became accustomed to the presence of New-York and took it for granted — he knew how to twist everything so that it fits into the mind of the personalities he needs. For him, everything flowed as it should — during the day, help to dad, the USA, and Vivian (it is Washington's middle name), at night — parties in his hometown, since his father allowed the condition to return home before midnight. 

And then one day he saw _her_ at a party, and realized that all this was stupid — he was completely unable to control emotions. He could start the story about those events with phrases like: "Music screamed with might and main. Many people, guys and girls danced, talked — in general, had fun. And among them I noticed a strange girl...". He could say so. But he would not be sure that he had not lied. 

Because when New-York came in, he did not notice either the volume of the music or the people. For him, the story began with the phrase: "I noticed a stranger ..." Without any unnecessary forewords. Just once — that's all. It was as if he were simultaneously deaf and blind, and the only thing he still saw was the figure of a stranger. 

The fact that she, like Newt, was not a human, he understood right away — the incarnations feel each other just like the twins feel a strange unity. 

"So, what does an unfamiliar city do in your territory?" would ask ordinary New-York himself. Ordinary New-York. It sounded funny, but the guy was not in jest. Newt did not even think of such a thing. 

The stranger sensed his presence and turned around. Green eyes. Colored bracelets. Watermelon on a white t-shirt. The latter made New-York snort. The girl smiled. Newt understood that he had hit — the noise of blood in his ears sounded synchronously with the crack of broken gears in the system of his mind. Ordinary New-York roared in his head heart-rendingly that something was clearly wrong with him and it was better to leave, and Newt could not disagree. 

Already on the way home, he belatedly remembered, that only cowards runs away, but the sense of wrong was way too strong. That girl... was very sweet. And she danced as if music, taking the form of a hurricane itself twisted the stranger in the right directions — naturally, in a word. 

Newt saw this only once — when during the time of colonial dependence on Britain, he appeared in America with France, not forgetting to seize the capital. Surprisingly, that day Francis and Arthur did not arrange a battle, limiting themselves only to verbal mockery. 

And then something hit London in the head, and he, succumbing to the atmosphere of lightness and freedom, allowing you to forget about the difference between nations and states, invited Paris to dance. 

By the way, it was precisely for the atmosphere of relaxedness that New-York loved evenings, whether they were at a noisy party or in the family circle. 

How funny actually. A city that measures time in seconds, and a smile according to its internal foundations loved freedom so much. But now even the atmosphere did not let him forget that somewhere in New-York an unknown (and why lie, pretty) lady was partying, and Newt had no idea what she needed. 

Need.

 _Need._

In politics, something always was _fricking needed from him_. 

Newt returned home at ten. Incredibly early by his standards. Dad looked in amazement at his second capital. 

"Something happened?" America inquired with the most carefree voice. It was his habit to never show the excitement developed by politics, and New-York knew about it, but now for some reason he became sick. Strange, because he knows how to control emotions, right? 

"Nothing much," Newt replied. _Nothing special_. "Hey, don’t you know which cities wear T-shirts with watermelons?" 

Alfred blinked in confusion, and already wanted to say something, but sharply changed his mind. How is it... It’s better not to argue with crazy people?

New-York grinned, although there was a complete panic in his soul. It is funny that even when the debugged mechanism became unusable, the ability to enter others into a stupor with one phrase has not gone away. 

This calmed and sobered. No one could change Newt — neither his father, nor his brothers and sisters, much less the incarnations from other countries. 

"De Janeiro," as through the noise from the streets came to consciousness. The noise from the streets. Noise from blood running through veins. Noise from a twitching heart trying to return to normal. "Dude, are you listening to me? Rio-de-Janeiro wears such." 

Good. Nice. Amazing. 

Brazil. Rio de Janeiro. January river. 

_The second capital._

This is certainly more than a coincidence. 

It's fate. 

Newt does not believe in fate. And this is nothing and nobody will change. 

And so the next evening, the capital of America number two purposefully went to the place of his and Rio's first meeting (he coundn’t say “their” yet). New York does not believe in fate, and therefore went to look for _her_ himself. 

Janeiro was nowhere to be seen. Newt did not feel her in his territory. 

He might have fetl disappointment. Could hear the call of rage or despair. But this did not happen.

 _He knows how to control his emotions_. 

So he just left. To the nearest party. From the noise of music for the first time he wanted to be deaf. Number of people rippled in the eyes. Newt was annoyed by his own humans for the first time in his life. 

This “first time” soon becomes a routine. 

Like a routine becomes silent observation of Rebeca too (he found out that this is Rio's name for close incarnations), which can’t even be called surveillance, just happens to be that every time she is nearby, Newt clings to her silhouette, like Ariadne’s thread leading from a labyrinth of his own thoughts. That' all. 

And nothing else. 

Emotions do not count, feelings do not count, ~~love does not count~~. 

"Y o can go visit your unknown beauty." suddenly strikes the mind during one perfectly warm evening. For all the time the guy never spoke to Rio. Not because of stupid timidity — Newt only experiences it when he decides that he needs it. He simply, as always, measured feelings. 

“We need a pretext,” a debugged system calmly issues, not giving glitches. 

All pretexts to hell, New-York is coming. 

Teleporting as always causes weakness and nausea. Traveling by changing distances is more convenient. But this time, New York is afraid to be late. Somewhere and for some reason. 

Just amuses himself with carefully controlled irrational anxieties. 

Janeiro appeared quite quickly. There is a watermelon on the T-shirt, a slight smile on the face, but there is something majestic in the gait that arises only on its territory, where even the earth is on your side. The true mistress of their lands. 

"Beauty," Newt thinks, and normal New-York growls with rage — since when did little-known girls get rights to something that no one would ever get, none of his brothers and sisters? Since when can unfamiliar cities knock out emotions from it?

Strange, usually Newt knows how to control feelings. 

Normal New-York knew how. Normal Newt. Sounds funny. But the guy has no time for jokes — he just learned. 

That he knows how to carefully control emotions. 

And that incarnations from other countries _may_ change this. 

"Well, let's see where this leads me," New grins, but Rio does not look amazed by the unexpected remark. 

She just takes a step. 

And as if a verified smile flies to hell. 

Because New York 

at all 

no droplets 

can not

control 

_feelings._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since I have never been to New-York, I had to study through plenty of sites while creating an incarnation of it. And on Russian site "travel34" I found rather interesting opinion about this city.  
> Here are some quotes: "It seems to me that you can only love New York with one kind of love: masochistic. Here, every aspect of life turns into a test."  
> "This city will entertain you to death, even if you don’t have a cent in your pocket. You can just walk on it - day after day, district after district - and still you won’t get tired, it’s still not going to be monotonous. It is all divided by invisible borders."  
> "It is a city of inexplicable choices and implausible stories that are real."  
> Link to material: https://34travel.me/post/dream-nyc
> 
> I couldn't judge, if this is true, but it really got me. So I tried my best to show a but of toxic, but still rather... I don't know, sort of smart (in all meanings) and careful character. I'm quite pleased with result, actually and I hope you are too. Newt is definetly one of my favorites.
> 
> Anyway, thank you for reading! Please leave any commentaries or critics if you have any. That would help me a lot.


End file.
